


Bound Fast With Love

by Diablerie



Series: Academia AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Academia, Alternate Universe - Historical, BDSM, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Fear of Discovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Power Imbalance, Professor Peter Hale, Sex Toys, Spanking, dom/sub elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablerie/pseuds/Diablerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started when his grandfather assigned him to attend to the visiting professor, Peter Hale.</p><p>"Be his shadow, my boy. Take care of his smallest need before he has an opportunity to notice. It would be quite the feather in our cap if we can steal him away."</p><p>Somehow, that brought him here: bound to a table and about to be spanked for his shoddy recitation of ancient poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound Fast With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts), [sociallyawkwardfangirl21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallyawkwardfangirl21/gifts), [Elpie (Horribibble)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/gifts), [cannibalinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalinc/gifts), [neoladyapollonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoladyapollonia/gifts), [TriDom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/gifts).



> Thanks go to the entire Steter Chatzy. This wouldn't exist without all of you encouraging me to finish what would have been my first Steter fic and convincing me to turn it into a series. It won't quite be the story I pictured back in 2012, but it will be _something_ instead of collecting dust on my google drive.
> 
> My apologies if you find the prose overwrought or otherwise purple. I tried to restrain myself as much as possible while maintaining the period atmosphere.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings at the end notes**

 

  


Stiles winced, realizing the error just as the words left his lips; in a trained response, he went limp within the loops of silken rope tying him to a polished, wooden table. Through trial and error, he’d learned that the only option was to relax into the burst of pleasure-pain. Stiles offered no resistance as the ruler landed three sharp blows directly across the base of the thick, phallus—a durable, glass _aide d’amour_ that Peter had lodged inside him as _incentive_ at the beginning of his tutorial.

  


"Mr. Stilinski, I’m sure you can do better than that. What would your esteemed grandfather say if he could hear this poor recitation?" Peter never raised his voice above a murmur during correction, and he never needed to. He wielded his words with the precision of a surgeon, and Stiles couldn’t help choking out a sob at the threat of disappointing—not his grandfather—but _his professor_.

  


As Peter came around the low table (perfectly adjusted for his position) Stiles jerked in surprise. However, he quickly relaxed again, almost lounging in his restraints when he felt a hand idly stroking along the sweat dampened hair at his brow.

  


“Hush now. No tears, dear boy. I know you’re quite capable. That was your only mistake, and we’re nearly done with this afternoon’s work.” A cool finger gently traced around his tender rim before retreating.

  


“I shall allow you to make another attempt, but I expect _perfection_ from such a bright young man… you do want to earn your reward don’t you, Stiles?”

  


"Yes, please," he gasped wetly as Peter’s fingers lightly teased at his cock head before painting Stiles’s slick across his parted lips and dipping inside. Stiles eagerly chased his own taste until all that remained was the unique flavor of Peter mixed with leather from the gloves he wore every day. All too soon, his mouth was emptied, but he knew what was expected.

  


Stiles drew one ragged breath before he begged, "Please, Sir. May I begin again?"

  


There was no response from Peter.

  


"Sir?"

  


He managed to contain his distress until he heard swift footsteps and the lock turn from the other side of the door. Then the mortifying and unmistakable sound of _his grandfather_ requesting entrance. The minutes passed in an interminable agony of fear and arousal. The prospect of being caught naked and debauched in the visiting professor's private rooms _should_ have been enough to wilt the boy’s erection, but he remained hard and dripping during the wait.

  


Stiles shifted in his bonds and tried to keep his moans muffled by the tabletop. Evidently, his grandfather couldn't have the decency to be slightly deaf in his old age because he _laughed_. He laughed and apologized to Peter for interrupting his "recreation".

  


Headmaster Stilinski was a randy old goat. It was clear that Stiles wasn’t any better because, yes, the risk of exposure made him struggle in his bonds—but he struggled for completion, not freedom. He rutted mindlessly against the table’s edge and worked his ass around the flared base of the glass pressed so sweetly against his prostate, uncaring of the noises that escaped him.

  


Stiles lost all sense of time in his desperate need for release. It could have been minutes or hours that he spent milking the plug with tiring muscles, so when Peter returned, it was to a frantic, overstimulated boy writhing and dripping cum onto the floor. He tsked lightly and slapped at Stiles’s flank with a casual hand, as though he was no more than a pet or a _possession_.

  


“Did I leave you alone too long, sweetling?” Peter cooed, the smug fondness clear in his voice as he reached between boy and table to drag gentle nails along Stiles’ slim cock. “Should I bring you off until you’re coming dry and begging me to stop pleasuring you?”

  


“Oh! Please, Sir,” he groaned. “I want to come—I need you to fuck me.”

  


The only answer to his plea was Peter’s hand, suddenly _there_ tugging out the plug and thrusting it back inside. Stiles moaned low in his throat. He tried to rock with the thrusts, to force the man to hit his prostate; but his efforts were an exercise in futility. No matter how solicitous or indulgent Peter seemed, he was the benevolent tyrant who ruled these special “tutoring” sessions with an iron fist wrapped in soft leather. Each struggle or small rebellion occurred strictly at the pleasure of _Professor Hale_ ; that knowledge was intoxicating and liberating. It freed Stiles to display his weakest self, to abase himself before Peter without fear of shame, all with the assurance that he was valued – treasured by the man.

  


It was a heady, pleasing thing to be the center of such a man’s attention, but Stiles would be happiest if they could finally progress to the fucking.

  


“Professor… fuck me.” He arched his back, tipping up his ass in vulgar invitation. “I need more than this,” he shuddered at a particularly rough twist followed by a deep, torturous slide. “I need your skin on mine. Your body inside me. There is no comparison to when you peak—marking me inside, so I can know where you’ve been. _Please._ ”

  


“Such pretty words, dearheart. You’ve learned so much in our time together.” Peter’s pleased declaration made him grab at the table for stability, suddenly gone boneless in the face of such warm approval. The man pulled the glass free from the clutch of Stiles’ body, while his other hand stroked over the dips in his spine in an absent, soothing motion.

  


“Should I reward you for nothing when you’ve already had your release? You dripped all over my floor while I had to deal with your grandfather.”

  


“No, I swear!” Stiles panted. “I’ll do it perfectly next time if you’ll fuck me.”

  


Peter gripped the reddened flesh of Stiles’ buttocks and said, “No, Stiles. You’ll do it perfectly regardless because you want to please me… You want to be my good boy. Isn’t that right?”

  


Stiles trembled, tears clinging to his lashes. “Yes, Da—I mean, Sir. Professor,” he stumbled, tongue-tied. “Yes, Professor, I do. Let me show you.”

  


Inwardly cursing his mistake, he listened as Peter drew away from the table. From his position, all he could hear was the faint rustle of fabric and the squeaky hinges of the bedroom door. Although the feeling had been growing in him for months – born of the hitherto unknown care and discipline he’d enjoyed at the professor’s hands – he’d never once exposed his most secret and deviant desire to scrutiny. Stiles gnawed on his lip, worrying a loose bit of skin while he waited for what would surely be Peter’s rejection.

  


The next thing Stiles knew was the feeling of hands running over the straining muscles of his thighs and calves on their way to unbuckle the straps that kept him bound to the table’s legs. He eased himself down from his toes and lay in docile confusion while Peter unfastened his wrists from the other side of the table.

  


“Why? What are you...?” Stiles shivered and shrank back from Peter’s hands. “Did I do something wrong?”

  


“It seems that I have been quite negligent in caring for you, sweet boy.”

  


Peter’s voice seemed to be coming from very far away even though it reverberated under Stiles’ ear as the man easily carried him the short distance to the bedroom. A dim corner of his mind registered that Peter must have used his brief absence to build up the fire and turn down the bedclothes to create the presently warm and inviting atmosphere.

  


After he was set down in the middle of the bed, Stiles didn’t delay in worming his way under the soft, heated blankets to combat his building anxiety. He hid his reddening face under a pillow that smelled of Peter and his elegant _eau de toilette_ , but Peter didn’t allow more than a single whimper to escape Stiles before he was pulling him out from under the pillows, flush against his front and stroking Stiles’ tense form.

  


“Shh, darling. You’re all right. I’m here now.” Peter sighed into his ear and gave the lobe a brief suckle that sent a tingle running through him. He laid soft kisses down Stiles’ exposed neck, muttering praises into his skin, holding him firm and steady. Anchoring Stiles with his own body when he twitched in restless pleasure. Peter’s capable, knowing hands followed a meandering path to Stiles’ renewed hardness, still covered in his earlier release.

  


“What’s this, hmm?” Hot fingers dwarfed his cock and started a slow rhythm of firm strokes, squeezing up and down the shaft while a wicked thumb tapped maddeningly at the head. “Is all this for me?”

  


“Yes! Always, Sir.”

  


The hand loosened just enough to decrease the urgent sensation building in his balls and the base of his spine. Stiles whined at the denial. “Please.”

  
Peter chuckled and wrapped his other arm more tightly around Stiles. “Soon, precious.”

  


Cradled against Peter’s firm body, he felt momentarily appeased. Stiles’ allowed himself to go limp in tacit surrender as the man sucked what would surely become a dark mark onto the join of his neck and shoulder. Peter made low soothing noises when he thrust his hips in little involuntary spasms. “I know what you need from me. I’ll give you everything, but first, I want to hear it from your own lips.”

  


Stiles tossed his head in confusion, eyes squeezed shut against the effort of thought. “I don’t understand, Da—Sir,” he hiccuped, tears filling his eyes as he burrowed backwards into Peter’s chest, shrinking away from the teasing hand that kept him on the knife’s edge of coming.

  


“Where’s my smart Stiles?” he cajoled. “You do know, darling. You began to say it mere moments ago, and earlier when you were telling me what you wanted. When you said you were my good, sweet boy. Don’t you want to make me proud?”

  


He nodded slowly, his thoughts a slow and hazy counterpoint to the tension in his groin. It was true. From the first day they met, Stiles had been enamoured, as attentive an aide as his grandfather could have wished. He was like the land after a drought, drinking in Peter’s smiles and patient attention as though they were rain. After experiencing such care, Stiles knew that he’d do anything if it would please his dear Professor Hale. He could do this. He could believe in him, and entrust his most shameful secret to Peter.

  


Then he could _finally_ be free to spend all over Peter’s hand.

  


Shyly, he tucked his chin into his thin chest, angling his mouth towards the linens beneath them. Stiles knew that his courage would fail if he turned back to look the man in the eyes. Voice muffled by the  his chest Stiles whispered, “Daddy. Even though you’re my lover and teacher, at times that’s how I think of you. I can’t help it.” He hesitated, breath held in for an instant before he plunged onwards. “Do I disgust you now? Is that why you stopped?”

  


Stiles felt as Peter stiffened behind him and suck in a sharp breath. To his keen disappointment, the hand around his shaft squeezed once then fell away, but Peter swiftly brought that hand up to turn his body around to face him. Worried blue eyes peered into his, and Peter sighed as he dropped his forehead down to rest against Stiles’ own. They spent several moments breathing in each other’s breaths, lulling Stiles into a drowsy state despite his arousal. Then Peter broke the silence.

  


“I could never be disgusted by you, Stiles. Why would I untie you and bring you to _my bed_ if I wasn’t pleased by this development? You’re my precious, darling boy. My own, dearheart. Please, say you understand.”

  


Under this intense scrutiny, Stiles lowered his eyes in shame at his faithlessness. Peter had never disappointed or rejected him. Why should now be any different?

  


“It’s unnatural. What we do. What I want. Isn’t it?”

  


“I’ll have none of that nonsense spoken while you lie here in my arms. I ought to give you another spanking for such cheek. When you’re with me you may have _anything_ you want without fear of judgement. I swear it.”

  


He bit his lips and nodded. “Yes, Sir. Daddy.” Stiles ducked his head again. “Only if you’re certain.”

  


With a bold smirk, Peter drew Stiles hand down and pressed it against his straining erection. “Would I still be standing proud if I didn’t desire the same? I can give you everything you want if you’ll allow it.” Peter brushed a chaste, reverent kiss across his forehead. As though in benediction he murmured, “There is no shame, darling. Now tell me. What do you want?”

  


“I want to call you Daddy.”

  


“And what else?”

  


Blushing, he stroked the hot flesh still under his fingers. “I want us to release in your hand. Together, if you please.”

  


Peter easily grasped them in one hand, fingers wrapped tight and grinding their cocks together with perfect friction. “Like this, sweetling?”

  


“Yes. _Daddy,_ yes.” Stiles rocked forward and pulled himself closer, keening as the long-delayed pleasure built to its former heights.

  


“Oh, please! Touch me. Touch me, Daddy.”

  


“I _am_ touching you. Where do you want it, darling?”

  


Writhing and clutching at the tense muscles of Peter’s forearm Stiles begged in wanton abandon. “ _Inside me_ . Please, Daddy. I’m almost— _I’m_ _close._ Please, _do it now. Please_!”

  


As his voice rose to a shriek Peter hissed in triumph, fingers already prodding at his tender hole before sinking all the way to the last knuckles. Stiles was caught helplessly between Peter’s hands, torn between the hand on his cock and the one fucking into him, driving him towards that ultimate peak.

  


There at the limit of his endurance, Peter pressed on the spot inside him that never failed to make his vision go dark. Stars burst behind his closed lids, and he came for the second time that day – barely aware of the bitten off curses as Peter followed him over the edge.

  


* * *

  


When Stiles came back to full awareness, Peter was attempting to rouse him from his cozy spot bundled in the fresh linens. He frowned at the hand wiping him clean with a perfectly warmed cloth.

  


“Stiles. Dearheart. Be good.”

  


“Daddy… I was _happy,_ ” he muttered in plaintive tones.

  


“I know, precious thing, but I need to know you’re well.” Peter turned away to drop the cloth on the basin’s lip then seated himself under the blankets and against the headboard. With ill grace, Stiles concedes to being tugged and positioned to Peter’s exacting specifications so that he’s curled into the space under the man’s arm with his head cushioned just under Peter’s heart. Settled in his new place, he simply huffed and twined their legs together, letting Peter pet him into a better humor.

  


“Such a grumpy boy. I’ve made you tea, and I expect you to drink it all. If you’re sweet to me, then you may have the cookies as well.”

  


Stiles hid a smile in Peter’s chest. Somehow the man always knew precisely what he needed after one of their sessions.

  


“Did you bring me the macarons or the shortbread?”

  


Peter kissed the top of his head and reached for the teatray waiting on the bedside table. “I thought, after such an emotional day, you might need both. Was I correct?”

  


He pursed his lips and accepted his tea. “You’re always correct. It’s horrid.”

“Oh, you seem to enjoy the fruits of my rightness, or do I need to take back the cookies?”

  


“Now, now. There’s no call to be hasty.”

  


“Of course, darling.” Peter drawled. “Enjoy your tea.”

  


They sat in companionable silence, sipping tea and steadily working through the small plate of sweets. Several times he considered breaking the quiet, intimate moment, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

  


Finally, when Peter returned from clearing the bed of their impromptu teatime, Stiles cleared his throat and murmured, “Thank you.”

  


Peter cocked his head and gave a brief half-smile. “For what? Tea?”

  


Stiles scowled. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse. For _everything_ . For letting me call you daddy. For tea. For spending time with me. Caring for me. For… for _loving_ me.”

  


“How could I do anything but love you? You’ve been my precious boy since the moment you nearly crushed yourself trying to help carry my trunk.” Peter drew him close once more, protectively enfolding him in his arms as they lay down.

  


He sighed in sheer happiness. It had been a long, taxing day full of emotional upheaval, but this made it all worthwhile. Stiles yawned as the events of the day caught up to him. “Love you too, Daddy.”

  


“Rest now, Stiles. I’ll have you back in your room before morning with no one the wiser.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As ever, let me know if you noticed any mistakes or problems in the text or tags.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
> In the middle of a scene, Peter leaves Stiles when he's in bondage. It's only for a short time, and he's in the next room.
> 
> How old is Stiles? How old do you think he is? I marked it as underage because he's depicted to be a bit young. He might be 16. He might be not 16. The choice is yours.
> 
> Why did you use the abuse of authority tag, Mal? Because you could read it as the willful, manipulation of an emotionally vulnerable boy by an adult. _Or_ you could read it as completely consensual. Your mileage may vary.


End file.
